


I'm No Hero

by BiJane



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood Drinking, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Hero Complex, Hero Worship, Season/Series 02, Vampires getting traits of who they drink from, Vulnerable Carmilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla always insisted she was no hero: Laura finally finds out why.<br/>But maybe, just maybe, there's a way she could make Carmilla into one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm No Hero

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be preparing for graduation in, ooh, nine hours. Quite why I decided to write I don't know, but anyway.  
> This was inspired somewhat by the latest episode. Take the worst qualities of Hollstein (Laura's hero-worship and hero-complex, Carmilla's Laura-complex), add a common vamp headcanon, and what do you get?  
> Written in one sitting.  
> I'm sorry.

“I’m no hero, cupcake.”

Carmilla had said that. Laura couldn’t believe her, not after last year. She’d stared down the Dean, risked her life to wield the sword, faced the demonic angler fish. And yet she kept insisting, kept denying.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Laura said.

“Saying what?”

Laura’s head was nestled against her shoulder, Carmilla’s hand idly toying with her hair. Despite how comfortable she felt, Laura pushed herself up, to better face her girlfriend.

“That you’re no hero,” Laura said.

“Because I’m not,” Carmilla said. Her hand didn’t drop, strands of Laura’s hair dangling between her fingertips.

“But I saw you,” Laura said: “Last year. The fish, your mother, the sword-”

“That wasn’t me.”

Laura blinked. Hesitated.

“So, uh, are there two of you?” Laura said. “I mean, it really looked like you, and…”

“It was you,” Carmilla said.

“…Pretty sure it wasn’t.”

“Pretty sure it was,” Carmilla echoed: sighed. “I drank you. Remember?”

Laura paused. Almost unconsciously, her hand lifted to her neck: at the memory, the scar prickled.

“And that…” Laura said.

“If I drink direct from someone, a little of them comes with it,” Carmilla said. “It’s why I prefer bottled. In an emergency though…”

Laura paused, trying to focus. It was… not unflattering, she supposed.

“So when you got the sword, and you…”

“You were the last person I drank,” Carmilla said. “Guess you rubbed off on me. Doesn’t last forever, just…”

Another pause. Laura frowned, uncertain: Carmilla glanced down, expression distasteful: perhaps ashamed.

“That’s all,” Carmilla said. “I just don’t want to take credit. It’s nothing like what I’d have done. Told you cupcake, I’m no hero.”

Silence. Laura hesitated, then judged Carmilla. Carmilla looked up.

“But you could be,” Laura said. “If you… want.”

* * *

Laura wanted her girlfriend to be a hero: and a hero was what they needed, more than anything. With Mattie, Corvae…

They needed the hero they’d had the last year. Self-sacrificing, brave, noble. The best qualities of both of them: Carmilla’s capability, Laura’s perseverance and indomitability.

A second of pain, a few drops of blood: it was a price Laura didn’t mind paying. She had been happy to die to try to save the campus. A little discomfort didn’t compare.

They investigated Corvae: got answers. They turned to Mattie, and found a few old stories about Vordenberg. Carmilla was suddenly eager to help, more a hero than she’d ever been. It was only a few weeks before they could save the campus: at least from that threat.

“So, how’s it feel?” Laura said, lying back. Carmilla had her head on Laura’s shoulder, that time. She kissed the scar tissue of Laura’s neck.

“How does what feel?” Carmilla said.

“Being a hero,” Laura said: kissed the top of Carmilla’s head. “Saving Silas. The normal.”

A chuckle. Carmilla shuffled.

“Good,” she said. Paused. “I think.”

“You think?”

“I think,” Carmilla echoed. Another kiss, another pause.

She’d changed, just slightly. A little change was what they’d been going for, after all: the bravery, the hero they needed, who’d do what was right even if there was a cost. She’d all but ruined her relationship with her sister.

Laura had held her through that. It was… sobering, to see the so-often disaffected Carmilla cry. It was only the second time she’d seen her tears. The first had been in the crater.

“Cupcake,” Carmilla said, low. “…Laura. I’m… I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

A quake ran through the campus, as if in response. Right. The angler fish had been getting rowdy: it wouldn’t be long before the hole it was trapped in cracked, and fell to powder to let it roam free.

“We’ll find a way,” Laura said. “Maybe we can find the Blade of Hastur again. Kill it, for real.”

“Maybe,” Carmilla said.

And Laura tilted her head back, and closed her eyes, to give her girlfriend a little more of the hope she needed.

* * *

Hope. That was the real problem. Carmilla didn’t have enough: it had fled from her, over her long life. The last vestiges had been lost in a coffin full of blood.

Laura gave that to her. Stubborn Laura.

The worst thing was going without. As soon as she’d had a real taste of hope, grown used to it, she’d known fear: real fear, not just the nervousness and laziness that so often gripped her. She didn’t want to do without hope, not again.

And Laura, wonderful Laura, was willing to oblige.

Laura wore scarves often. Though their friends knew of the arrangement (Danny had almost punched the house down after hearing of it), none knew of the extent to which it had gone. There was rarely a day where Laura’s veins went untapped.

Carmilla depended on her blood, and Laura depended on her hero.

The Summers had been happy to help in locating the Blade. They finally had it again: and not a moment too soon. Lophiiformes was stirring, and its fragile prison had almost shattered.

“Are you ready?” Laura said.

Carmilla closed her eyes: inhaled, and nodded.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Carmilla said. Laura leaned up: kissed her.

“I just want one thing,” Laura let her head fall back down. “Be a hero.”

Carmilla’s head lowered with Laura’s, and her fingertips tugged Laura’s scarf away.

* * *

2.24 litres. That was the most blood the average human body could afford to lose. It could only regenerate so much.

Laura had hidden her weakness, how she struggled to walk, and how erratic her heartbeat must have felt. Carmilla had been willing to risk her life, because of what she’d taken from Laura: of course Laura would have been willing to do the same.

Carmila still had her taste in the back of her throat. She had for days, ever since striking down the angler fish. She’d almost died, almost: but somehow she’d pulled through again. Cheated the sword’s curse, cheated death for what must be the hundredth time.

And she hadn’t moved since she’d returned to her room, her mother’s house, and all triumph had failed her at the sight of what awaited her.

Laura was lying there, almost serene. Her scarf had fallen to the floor, an old wound had reopened, and everyone was there. Everyone could see.

The mess of scars, the glassy eyes, the eternal smile, the so-cold skin, the stillness. The stillness. That was the worst part: there was scarcely a second when Laura wasn’t active, hopping about, grinning about something.

Instead, stillness.

Danny had tried to force Carmilla from the room: Carmilla had ignored her, both her words and her blows. She’d stared, and done nothing but stare.

The burning in her throat turned from ecstasy to guilt.

She didn’t want to drink. Not a drop more, not the slightest drop. She’d lose the taste of Laura: the flicker of her spirit, her soul. It was all she had left.

They tried to move Laura. Maybe bury her, maybe cremate her. Carmilla didn’t know what her wishes had been, if she’d even planned that far ahead. Why would she have? She was nineteen. Nineteen and-

Carmilla hadn’t let them. Eventually, they gave up: let Laura stay where she was. Let Carmilla stare.

That was the third time Carmilla cried, since she’d met Laura.

And she could do nothing. She knew that. The taste would fade, her memories would likely even fade, and all those that knew Laura would grow old and be gone. Forgotten. Silas was saved, but who cared?

Immortality made so much seem pointless: now, more than ever. She’d lost her hope.


End file.
